


when we get well

by sunsmasher



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Fluff, M/M, Podfic Available, Proposals, utterly pointless cotton candy nonsense
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-19
Updated: 2019-09-19
Packaged: 2020-10-21 13:38:04
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,750
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20694443
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sunsmasher/pseuds/sunsmasher
Summary: “So you—” Sylvain starts. Felix growls at him, tugging him back by the hair to better savage his neck. “—Fuck me, so you had a nice time slaughtering the forces of the Empire today?”Felix says something unintelligible against the knot of his throat. His knees tighten hard against Sylvain’s sides.Sylvain says, “What was that, you insatiable hussy?”





	when we get well

“Sylvain!” Ingrid shouts from sixty feet up, barely audible over her pegasus’ wings. “Sylvain, get off the horse!”

“What?” Sylvain calls back. He’s busy shaking some dude’s organs off his lance. There’s a lot of them, and he’s not into it.

“Sylvain, he is _coming! Get off the horse!”_

He squints up at her, shielding his eyes. Did someone miss an enemy mage? Is he in danger? Normally Ingrid would just take care of the problem and demean him later. She’s pointing at something, just south of his—

“Oh, fuck,” Sylvain says, and scrambles off his horse.

The scattered Kingdom army erupts in whoops and mocking cheers as Felix hurdles a berm, a corpse, and an unsuspecting Knight of the Church and throws his entire body into Sylvain’s arms. Sylvain catches him, staggering back, at the cost of all the air in his lungs and at least one muscle in his shoulders. He swears again, he thought Felix was going to _punch _him, and then is liberated of all further thought as Felix gets his legs around Sylvain’s waist and his hands around Sylvain’s jaw and crushes their mouths together.

_“Hi,_ sweetheart,” he gasps against Felix’s hungry mouth, tottering back three more steps before his back, thank the Goddess, hits a tree against which he can brace. Felix doesn’t reply. Felix is too busy being a man possessed, kissing the corner of his mouth, his cheek, his jaw, while Sylvain is too busy laughing, suddenly drunk on it, to kiss him back.

“So you—” Felix growls at him, tugging him back by the hair to better savage his neck, “—_fuck me,_ so you had a nice time slaughtering the forces of the Empire today?”

Felix says something unintelligible against the knot of his throat. His knees tighten hard against Sylvain’s sides.

“What was that, you insatiable hussy?”

“I saw you take the arrow,” Felix says, ragged and close, like he can’t bear a single inch between them. “After Dimitri called the advance. I saw you get hit.”

“Oh,” Sylvain says. He’d forgotten about the arrow. It had been hours ago, before they even cleared the fighting in the valley. “It barely scratched me, you know. A graze!”

Felix’s glove tightens painfully in Sylvain’s hair. “You were hit in the _neck.”_

“It was the shoulder, come on.”

“Sylvain—”

“I was fine! I’m fine. Mercie was right there, it wasn’t even—”

_“Sylvain,”_ Felix says, in a tone Sylvain hasn’t heard in lifetimes, hasn’t heard since a previous age. His breath catches like fish hooks in his throat. “Don’t do that. Don’t _joke_ about this.” The fingertips of his gloves scratch into Sylvain’s scalp, slide over his backplate. “You got lucky. What if Mercedes hadn’t been there? If you’d just bled out like a normal person because you got shot in the fucking neck? This isn’t—“

“Hey, it’s okay” Sylvain says, voice dropping low, suddenly aware that he’s unable to bear this. “It’s okay, Felix, I’m fine.” He resettles Felix on one arm, raising the other to stroke over his head, still buried in Sylvain’s neck. “Mercie fixed me up no trouble, I didn’t even have to get off my horse. It’s all roses, sweetheart.”

“Stop calling me that,” Felix growls, but doesn’t shake Sylvain off as he keeps petting back over Felix’s head, through his beautiful, grimy hair, steady and encouraging until he finally looks up from Sylain’s gorget. He looks mad when he meets Sylvain’s eye, of course, but he’s red, too, from his chin to the tips of his ears. Red as good fortune and a lucky sunrise.

Sylvain can’t help but smile.

“We’re so close,” Felix says to him, low and fierce and a little unsure, in that tone he’s never used once for anything. Sylvain laments every miserable piece of cloth or plate that separates their bodies. “Ten days out from Enbarr. Don’t fuck this up now, Gautier.”

“Oh, darling,” Sylvain says, to Felix’s immediate complaint, “as if I could ever disappoint you.”

The complaints continue. Sylvain laughs and beams and, at the appropriate moment, fits his mouth to Felix’s and lets Felix have every single thing he wants.

* * *

The light grows long and honeyed. Sylvain watches it with the sensation that he’s growing with it, mind and body slowly craning towards the horizon even as he settles lower against the tree trunk. The earliest owls call from the evening bower and Felix make a quiet, wordless noise as he curls like a too-large cat in Sylvain’s lap.

He’s glad he left his armor on below the waist. It helps disperse the pressure of Felix’s incredibly bony ass digging into his thighs.

“We should go back soon,” Felix says, voice rough before he coughs and knocks his head to Sylvain’s chin. It returns Sylvain neatly to his own body. “Dimitri will want something from us.”

“Yeah,” Sylvain says. His fingertips trace the mended seams of Felix’s jacket. “He always does.”

Neither of them move. The horse, tail switching idly at flies, pulls at the grass downhill.

“Do you think about what you’ll do after the war?” Sylvain asks, still feeling for Felix’s heart beneath the folds of his clothes. The topic is taboo, something they never discussed when they thought Dimitri was dead, or lost to them, or even once he came back—some habits are hard to break, and Sylvain isn’t stupid enough to invite the misfortune. Felix brought it up first, though. He said, _Ten days out,_ with his hands in Sylvain’s hair.

“Go home, I guess,” Felix says. He sounds a touch resentful, which is usual when he’s asked a question unrelated to weapons training or, very infrequently, cats. “Rebuild our fathers’ lands, serve the country, serve the king. Isn’t that what we’re supposed to do?”

“Maybe,” Sylvain replies with an impeded shrug. “I don’t think this is the same world we grew up in, though.”

Felix’s head tips back. Sylvain is still watching the ripening horizon, but he can feel Felix’s glare. “What?” he says.

“I mean like, the whole thing’s different,” Sylvain says. His heart’s picking up, though he’s not sure why. He’s never put any of this into words before, but words have never been the things that tripped him up. “Claude handed over the Alliance and fled. We’re about to, hopefully, kill the last emperor of a thousand-year line. Dimitri is going to be king of the entire continent. The professor is probably going to be _archbishop_, even if we do ever find Rhea. It’s not—”

He pauses, hands tightening over Felix’s hip. When he looks down Felix is watching him curiously. Frowning, of course, but with a question in his eyes.

“...I think it’s a new world,” Sylvain says to him, a touch shaky. “I think we get to decide who we are in it.”

“Huh,” Felix says, settling back down against his chest, cheek pressed to Sylvain’s collar. “I guess so.”

He thinks Sylvain is done. Sylvain almost thinks he is, too, so suddenly nervous he feels like he’s had to go begging for the courage to open his mouth and say, “Do you want to stay with me?”

Felix doesn’t look up. He doesn’t move. Sylvain’s hands are shaking where they overlap at his waist.

“Like, after the war,” Sylvain clarifies. “For… forever. I don’t—”

“Yes,” Felix says.

His head rests just beneath Sylvain’s chin. Not even his flyaway hairs move in their lines down Sylvain’s jaw.

“Really?” Sylvain says, weak.

“Yeah,” Felix replies, and pulls his legs up to his chest. He settles heavier on Sylvain’s lap, audible every time he exhales. “Don’t ask again.”

Sylvain laughs, softly to start then louder and stronger until it’s snapping out of him like clean sheets hung to dry, shaking them both as Felix, red-faced and suspiciously damp around the eyes, finally snaps at him to shut up or be shut up. It doesn’t take. Sylvain buries his face in Felix’s hair and laughs until he feels sick with it, heart going like an engine of war in his chest.

“You fucking—” Felix starts, aggrieved, furious, wrapping his arms around Sylvain’s chest and smearing his shirtfront with snot. “Are you so fucking stupid you can’t— _Sylvain!”_

Sylvain finishes wiping his nose on Felix’s part. “Did you feel that? Because I’m not _sorry _sorry but—”

“Sylvain, someone took the fucking _horse!”_

* * *

By the time they make it back to camp, certain things have become clear.

Sylvain’s trusty steed is groomed, fed, and happily drowsing as they walk past the picketed horses. An outgoing patrol, passing them by between the officer’s tents, favors them both with hearty whistles. Ashe bounces off Sylvain’s chest as he leaves the sprawling central tent that houses Dimitri’s dining table and they try to enter it.

“Oh,” Ashe says, looking between them, and their linked hands, then their faces again as his grin threatens to bisect his skull at the ears. “Hi, guys!”

“We need to leave the country,” Felix says, perfectly serious, as Ashe jogs off with a cheerful wave.

“I think this is going to go great,” Sylvain says.

“If you would at least stop holding my hand—”

“As if, jackass,” Sylvain replies, and drags him into the tent.

“A toast!” Dimitri booms as the tent flaps closed behind them, as they blink in the bright light of the lamps and every general of the Kingdom, including the ones they didn’t go to school with, stands and hollers and cheers.

“To victory!” Ingrid shouts, between Dimitri and the professor, with a mean, happy glint to her eyes. This could not more obviously be her fault.

“To love!” Annette adds, because they all practiced their timing very well. Felix has freed his hand from Sylvain’s in order to cover his scarlet face.

“To the newlyweds!” Dimitri finishes, loud enough to rattle the mountains, and every varied soldier in the tent raises their glass with him.

“We’re not—” Felix tries to say, more of a yelp, but Sylvain is already spinning him around by the shoulders.

“C’mon sweetheart,” he says, as loud as he can over the noise, “don’t play coy now.”

“Don’t _call me_—_”_

Sylvain kisses him. Dips him, too, for good measure. Felix makes a horrible noise then gets his teeth on Sylvain’s lip and kisses him back. The noise starts to reach unsustainable levels.

Sylvain’s shoulders burn with the weight of Felix in his arms. Felix slings an arm around his neck and puts a hand to his jaw. Felix grins against his mouth.

**Author's Note:**

> An advance payment, for every other horribly angsty fe3h fic I still yearn to write. Also, haha get rekt lily. 
> 
> On twitter @lambergeier, and @firegeier for fe specifically.

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [[podfic] when we get well](https://archiveofourown.org/works/27045475) by [growlery](https://archiveofourown.org/users/growlery/pseuds/growlery)


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